


i see no tragedy

by Ariesgirl666



Category: Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Faked Suicide, Murder Bros, Suicide Attempt, Suicide Notes, gore?, i finally figured out how to tag!, inappropriate use of kitchenware, look if you were ok with heathers you should be fine with this, people still die
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-11 04:47:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13516863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ariesgirl666/pseuds/Ariesgirl666
Summary: The first time JD meets Heather Duke, she’s bent over behind a 7-11, puking her guts out.Or: in which JD and Heather Duke meet for the first time on slightly different terms.Platonic JDuke friendship, platonic Dukesaw friendship, romantic Jdonica





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place pre-canon -as in, after the cafeteria scene where JD and Veronica meet, but before the Remington party and the 7-11 scene. JD is mostly based off musical version here, and Duke is movie version since her musical version doesn't have much of a personality.

The first time JD meets Heather Duke, she’s bent over behind a 7-11, puking her guts out.

  
He doesn’t recognize her as one of the Heathers at first, and he feels something like pity or empathy or some shit like that, so he holds her long auburn hair away from her face until she finishes. Then he lets go and steps back.

  
She turns to face him. She has streaks of makeup running down her face and vomit on her lips and the front of her blouse, but she still sniffs proudly and steps away from him.  
  
He offers her his shirt since hers is gross and stained with vomit (those were his exact words: “Do you want my shirt, ‘cause yours is gross and stained with vomit?”) and she raises one eyebrow and replies. “I’d rather wear my own intestines around my neck than _flannel_ , thanks.”

  
Then he remembers where he’s seen her before.  
“You’re a Heather, aren’t you?”  
“And you’re that weird kid who likes Veronica Sawyer.” She offers her hand to him and he takes it, shakes briefly. They both wipe their hands on their jackets afterward.  
  
“Heather Duke.”  
“Jason Dean.”  
“Wish I could say it was a pleasure.”  
“Same here.”  
  
He offers to buy her a slushy or some corn nuts or something to fill her up, and she weakly laughs and declines. “Too many calories,” she says with a sheepish grin.  
“You dropped your book,” he says, and offers it to her. Her cheeks flush, as if she’s embarrassed that some nobody saw her reading The Catcher in the Rye, and she snatches it back hurriedly.  
“No need to be embarrassed,” he says mildly. “It’s a good book.”  
“Wow, Bo Diddly approves of my choice in reading,” Heather deadpans. “I’m flattered.”  
He smirks and walks her back to the parking lot.

“Shit,” Heather swears. The lot is empty except for his motorbike.  
“Your date ditch you?”  
“Not my date, just Heather. Chandler. She was supposed to wait until I was done…taking care of myself. I guess a better option showed up.”  
  
He has no idea what prompts the next words out of his mouth (maybe because he really doesn’t like Heather C, maybe because he’s bored, or maybe because he feels like fucking with the cosmic alignment of high school stereotypes) “You need a ride home?”  
“What, on that?” she raises a scornful eyebrow towards his bike.  
“I’ll let you drive.”  
“Seriously?”  
He shrugs. “We’re all just specks in a giant maelstrom and everything’s meaningless, so who cares if we die in a fiery explosion by the side of the road, really?”  
“Ugh, Nietzsche.”  
“Don’t ugh Nietzsche. He was a brilliant man.”  
She elbows him in the side and makes her way over to the bike. “You’re such a pillowcase.”  
“What does that even mean?”

She swings her leg over the side of the bike, brushes her hair away from her face, and puts his helmet over her head. “It means shut up and get on the bike, freak.”  
He does, keeping his hands at awkward waist level as they speed away.  
(Heather wouldn’t tell anybody ever, but she appreciates it)

She drives them to Heather C’s house, which is both hideously expensive and exactly how he would have pictured it to look like, if he’d been asked.  
“Sometimes, I don’t like my friends,” Heather confesses suddenly as she gets off the bike, hands him back his helmet.  
He lights a cigarette. “I don’t really like your friends either.”  
“Except Veronica.”  
“Exception noted.”

Veronica comes out then, spots the tear, makeup, and vomit stains on Heather, and runs to her. “Heather? What’s wrong, what happened?” She turns to glare at JD. “What did you do?”  
“He just gave me a ride,” Heather mutters, giving an apologetic look to JD. “Don’t tell Heather.”  
“I promise I won’t.” Veronica hugs Heather again. “When Heather came back without you, we were all really worried.”  
Heather snorts. “Yeah right.”  
“Well, I was,” Veronica amends her statement. “Then Heather Mac spiked the lemonade, so…”  
“Yeah.”

Veronica lets Heather go to lean over and kiss JD on the cheek. “Thank you for helping her.”  
JD fights down a blush. Veronica doesn’t notice, but Heather Duke does, and her grin is a beautiful and evil thing to behold.

“VERONICA!” comes a familiar shout, and tipsy Heather Chandler is standing at the doorway. “If it isn’t Heather Duke. You finally dragged your ass back here. Hurry up, Heather’s on top of the chandelier and I can’t get her down by herself.”  
“Hi, Heather,” Heather groans. She turns to JD. “We will not speak of this. You. Me. Anything you saw in that parking lot. Ever.”  
“Cross my heart and hope to die.”  
“Don’t we all.”  
“So long, Salinger.”  
“See you never, Nietzsche.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't really know how this got started, except that I was annoyed about the butchering of Heather Duke's character in the musical, and I felt like there was a lost opportunity for her and JD to talk about books. And I would never have even thought about JD/Heather Duke interaction if I hadn't read "Five Times Heather Duke Thought Undeservedly Kindly of Jason Dean" by Blueinkedfrost, so they deserve immense credit for inspiring this.  
> More to come! It starts getting gory next chapter, just a heads-up.  
> P.S. I'm having Heather Duke be ace in this, because that's how I headcanon her most of the time, but it probably won't come up unless I can figure out a way to work it in.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Quick question: How do you get rid of a body?”  
> “How do you what a what now?”
> 
> Or: JDuke bonding over incorrect use of kitchen & gardening utensils

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place post Remington party/Dead Girl Walking and has elements from both the movie and musical.

The shrill ringing of the phone wasn’t what woke JD up.

No, it was Veronica, face flushed pink, hair a mess, poking him relentlessly that did it.

“Whas going on,” he mumbles, before a part of his brain reminds himself _you just had sex, you just had sex with Veronica Sawyer, she actually likes you and everything, she thinks you’re beautiful…_  

“Phone call for you,” Veronica says, and hands over the phone. He props himself up on his elbows, watching as she clasps her bra back on. “Hello?”

“Jason Dean?” it takes him a minute to place the voice, terrified and shaken. 

_“Heather?”_

Heather Duke actually whimpers. “Quick question: How do you get rid of a body?”

“How do you _what_ a _what now_?”

“I’m at Heather Chandler’s,” Duke says.

“I’ll be right over.” He hangs up.

“Is Heather okay?” Veronica asks, tugging her dress back on. She actually looks concerned about her friend, and for a minute he considers telling her the truth, but that would make her an accomplice. “Just a dumb prank.”

“Okay.” She kisses him on the mouth. “I should probably get home before my parents wake up.” Their goodbye kiss is longer than either of them meant for it to be, both of them getting lost in each other until finally, reluctantly, she pulls away, eliciting a whimper from him. “To be continued?” she asks hopefully.

“Definitely.”

 

After Veronica leaves, JD takes the bike (luckily the old man doesn’t get up before 3 pm) and rides over to Heather Chandler’s house. Nobody seems to be awake, but he climbs through the second floor window just in case, tumbles into a bathroom, heads down the hall, and finds Heather Chandler’s body on her bedroom floor, smashed through a glass table, and Heather Duke standing over her holding a knife in one shaking hand.

There’s blood all over her -blood spattering her arms up to the elbows, blood smeared up her white neck like a high collar, blood turning her green skirt brown and her white blouse red. Pieces of gore of it are stuck in her hair, and there was a smear of red across her cheekbone.

JD sticks his hands in his pockets. “Explain.”

Duke’s green eyes -a shock of bright green amidst all the red -flash to his. “I didn’t mean to,” she says lamely. Both of them look at Heather Chandler’s body -throat slit so deep he can see bone, golden curls flecked with blood, lying in a pool of it the exact same color as her carpet. Her red mouth is open in a silent scream, her blue eyes wide and terrified.

“Say something!” Duke snaps, furiously terrified.

The first thing that comes out of his mouth is, “Well, at least they won’t have to pay for carpet cleaning.”

Heather Duke slaps him, smearing blood over the side of his face too. “God! I should have called Veronica, even if it did mean she’d be sending her SAT scores to San Quentin instead of Stanford!”

“Okay. Wow. Okay.” He rubs his jaw, examines the body again. “It’s too messy to have been a suicide thing, which means…”

“We’re going to have to get rid of the body,” Heather Duke says. He thinks she might be hyperventilating.

“Heather. Focus. What time do Chandler’s parents come in to check on her?”

“They’re visiting her grandmother,” Duke rattles off. “They won’t be home til 5 pm.”

“Go take a shower,” he tells her. “Get all of the blood off. Then come downstairs and help me find drain cleaner, garbage bags, and a hack saw.”

She doesn’t question it, just nods as obediently as if he were Heather Chandler telling her what sort of bag went best with her shoes, and disappears into Heather’s bathroom.

JD sighs and as he looks into Heather C’s sightless blue eyes, he can’t help feeling triumphant.

“Good riddance, bitch,” he says, almost gleefully (all he can think about is Veronica, face blotchy and red as if she’d been crying for hours, confessing through sobs that Heather had tried to make her hook up with some college guy and Veronica had begged them to leave her alone and they wouldn’t, how she had thrown up on Heather’s shoes and Heather had promised to ruin her…) before heading downstairs to look for some loose bricks.

 

When Heather Duke comes out of the bathroom, there’s an empty, faraway expression on her face. She dresses herself in one of Heather Chandler’s pale pink dresses. JD hands her an apron identical to the one he wears, and a pair of rubber gloves. She heads downstairs and comes back minutes later with the stuff he asked for.

“I couldn’t find drain cleaner,” she says. 

He’s surprised at her composure -surprised at his own composure, in fact -as he replies, “We’ll just make do without it.”

t’s not a pretty process, cutting Heather Chandler’s corpse up like…yeah he doesn’t really want to finish that simile if he’s ever planning to eat without puking again.

Speaking of, he thinks Heather Duke might be going into shock, but at least it’s efficient shock, and she hasn’t cut herself with the hacksaw or anything.

 

They load Chandler’s body parts into separate garbage bags and weigh them down with bricks. Duke takes her car keys from the dresser, and they drive in Heather Chandler’s car until they get to a river.

“Anything you want to say before we dump her?” JD asks, opening the trunk and grabbing a bag.

Heather tilts her head, considers a moment. “No,” she admits. “Does that make me a bad person?”

“I think you crossed the moral event horizon when you stabbed your best friend until she died,” JD offers, honestly.

Heather snorts, then looks horrified at her own reaction.

“You okay?” he isn’t quite sure how that came out of his mouth, but since he is, technically, an accomplice (not that Chandler didn’t deserve it, he’s sure the bitch did) he figures he doesn’t have much to lose by being nice.

When he looks over, Heather Duke is beaming. “Actually, for the first time in a while, I don’t feel like throwing up.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Veronica has her doubts about the efficiency of the Sherwood Police Department.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a hard chapter, but it was a lot of fun to write! Enjoy!

When Veronica arrives at school on Monday, there's a sort of solemn hush around, wherever she walks. At first she thinks that Heather's kept to her promise to ruin her, but the silence is more sympathetic than shunning. A couple of times, people she's never spoken to before say "Veronica, I'm so sorry!"  
In art class, Fleming'd pulled her into an awkward hug. "Oh Veronica, you're so brave!" she'd bleated. Veronica had tried to untangle her hair from one of Fleming's multiple bead necklaces and excused herself.

In the hallway, Heather Duke grabs her by the wrist and drags her into the bathroom.

"Heather, what the hell is going on?"

"You didn't hear?" Duke says, eyes wide. Veronica grits her teeth.  
"Cut the crap and just tell me!"

"Veronica...Heather Chandler's missing."

"What?!"

"Sorry about your friend," a stoner girl says, slinking out of one of the stalls. "Thought she was just your typical airhead bitch. Guess I was wrong."

* * *

 "No way," Heather MacNamara says when they tell her in the locker room at gym.   
"Heather..." Duke begins.

"Oh shut up Heather!" MacNamara snaps. "I know Heather better than all of you, and she would  _never_ run away!"

"You think something bad happened to her?" Veronica asks.

"You're both being ridiculous," Duke snaps. "Shit like this doesn't  _happen_ in Sherwood Ohio. God, Heather, are you some kind of idiot?"

Heather M falls silent. She picks up something from Chandler's locker, which she's been moodily digging around in. "Heather left one of her swatches," she says gloomily. "Does that sound like our Heather?"

Duke takes the swatch. "Let me have that," she barks.

"No, give it to Veronica." Heather stands up and puts it on Veronica's wrist. "She'd want you to have it. She always said you couldn't accessorize for shit."

Veronica smiles a little bit, and Heather smiles back.

"Careful, Heather, you might actually be digesting food for once," Veronica teases, although she can't hide the relieved smile on her face.

"Yeah, where's your urge to purge?" MacNamara snipes, clearly not over their argument.

Duke shrugs, throws the chicken bone over her shoulder. "Fuck it."

 _She looked healthier than I'd ever seen her_ , Veronica writes in her diary.  _JD's uncharacteristically cheerful too. Maybe Heather's disappearance helped somebody after all._

* * *

 The police come in around sixth period to interrogate everyone about Heather's disappearance. It's a sad sight. (Not because Veronica thinks Heather's actually dead -she's a mythic bitch, for fuck's sake, she's probably immortal -but with these officers, she might as well be.)

"Where were you on the morning of September 13th?"

"Today is September 13th," Veronica points out dryly.

"Show some respect young lady," puffs the officer in front of her, red-cheeked and looks like he's barely out of high school.

Veronica rolls her eyes. "I apologize. Today is September 13th, sir."

"She's right, you know," the second officer says. He's only a little older. Veronica has nicknamed them Tweedledee and Tweedledum, respectively.

"Shut up! Where were you on the night of September 12th, then?"

"I was at my boyfriend's house."

* * *

"I was at my girlfriend's house," says Jason Dean, crossing his arms. "Can I go?"

* * *

"I was in my yard, playing with my dog?" Heather McNamara says. Her leg moves nervously. "Any way we could hurry this up? I'm missing a Calc test."

* * *

"I was a party," Heather Duke drawls. "At Remington University. It was so very. We all got trashed, so I took Heather home to sleep it off. I woke up in Heather's house, made her a hangover cure, and went home before she woke up."

* * *

"Did you know the victim?"

"Everyone knows Heather Chandler," Martha Dunnstock says, fidgeting in her chair. "I mean -we didn't all like her, but that's just high school, right?"

* * *

 "She was so hot, man. Everybody wants to fuck Heather," Kurt Kelly says.

"Yeah, and she's not even a prude like Veronica, you know? I dunno why God had to go and kill such hot snatch, man." Ram Sweeney contributes.

* * *

 "So you think the victim's dead?"

"If there's any justice in the world," JD drawls. "So, probably not."

* * *

"Probably," Peter says. "The death rate in Ohio is pretty high these days."

* * *

"I hope not," admits Betty Finn. "Are you allowed to call her a victim yet without proof of foul play?"

The first officer squints at her. "What are you, a goddamn lawyer or somethin'? You do your job, and you let us do ours."

* * *

 "Any suspects?" the chief asks when they return.

The first officer shakes his head. "There was this kid in a trenchcoat on the way back -something Dean?"

"I keep telling you," the second officer groans. "Don't judge a kid by his trenchcoat. There's tons of people that own trenchcoats and don't grow up to be serial killers!"

"Yeah? Well who do you think did it, genius?"

"I dunno, man. Maybe she offed herself. Pretty girls are complicated, man."

"Like you would know."

 _"Chief?"_ the police captain's radio buzzes. 

"Shut up you idiots!" he snaps, and then into his radio: "I'm here."

_"You gotta come out here and see this. We found Heather Chandler's car by Sherwood Lake."_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may not be updating for a few days because I'm going away for a debate tournament, but hopefully the new chapter should be up by Monday. (I make no promises).


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heather has trouble sleeping, Heather's still dead, and Heather watches the hierarchy shift and resettle around her. Meanwhile, JD and Veronica have a moment.

It was the sound that kept Heather up at night. There are some sounds you just don’t forget, and one of those is the sound of a hacksaw through bone. _(She doesn’t remember the sound of the knife going into Heather…what, seventeen times? She doesn’t remember stabbing Heather at all, just opening her eyes and there her best friend was, dead.)_

That’s why she’s up at 1 am, pacing in front of her mirror. She can almost hear Chandler’s voice - _“Poor little Heather. Sound of my death bothering you, bitch? Make you want to, I don’t know, puke?”_

“Ugh,” Heather moans, dragging her hands through her tangled hair. Giving in, she picks up her green rotary phone and dials.

 _“‘Lo?”_ It’s an older, gravelly voice.

“Sorry to bother you, Mr. Dean. Can I talk to JD? I’m one of his friends from school,” Heather lies.

 _“Oh,”_ the man grunts, and then - _“DAD! Your girlfriend’s on the phone!”_

 _“Coming, sport,”_ she hears JD call dryly, and then, hopefully - _“Veronica?”_

“Nope.” She pops the p. “Heather.”

“The alive one, I presume?”

“Ha-ha.”

_“Is there a reason you’re calling this late?”_

“Don’t pretend like I’m disturbing your beauty sleep, Jason Dean. I’ve snuck out of enough bedroom windows to know when somebody’s faking tiredness. Visiting Veronica, this late?”

 _“I was just about to, when_ you _interrupted,”_ JD mutters, bitterly. _“I hope you use your brains for good instead of evil.”_

“A bit late for that, don’t you think?”

JD snickers, and Heather glares into the phone. “I can’t sleep,” she admits. “I keep hearing the goddamn hacksaw, Dean! It’s everywhere -in all my nightmares! And Jesus fucking Christ I -“

 _“The Telltale Hacksaw*,”_ JD muses, and she can hear his tone change. _“Listen, Duke. You killed her. So there’s one less high school prom queen making people like Martha Dunnstock miserable. So what? You made the world a better place. Now get some sleep.”_

The line disconnects, and Heather Duke sleeps a little easier that night.

* * *

 

At Heather’s funeral, Heather’s miserable and Heather’s radiant.

Duke kneels by Chandler’s coffin, looking like a beautiful widow whose foreign lover just shot her husband or something melodramatic like that.

Veronica sits near the back, JD’s arm around her shoulders. She doesn’t know how to feel -sure, Heather Chandler was a vicious bitch, who, the last time Veronica had seen her, promised to destroy her life. But Heather was fun when you got her alone -making vodka lemonades or standing up for Veronica when a jock was being a particularly misogynist douche. Veronica had been crying in the bathroom once because one of her teachers was lowering her grade because she hadn’t let him touch her breasts after class. Heather, red-lipped and saint-smiling, had found her and lifted up her chin with one red fingernail. “Chin _up_ Veronica,” she’d said. “Heathers don’t cry.”

Veronica had told Heather what happened, and the girl’s blue-gray eyes blazed. “ _What._ ”

Two weeks later, a bag of pot was found in that same teacher’s desk, even though he swore he’d never seen it before. Two days later, seventeen girls came forward accusing him of inappropriate sexual misconduct. He was fired immediately, and Heather and Veronica sat on the steps with red and blue lollipops watching him go.

Heather Chandler was Queen. And now she’s dead.

Veronica feels tears and blinks them away.

“Hey, you okay?” JD looks at her, concerned. 

“Fine,” Veronica says reflexively. “Hey, can we go to 7-11 after this?” She needs a distraction. He shrugs casually, although the concerned look doesn’t leave his eyes. “Whatever you want, darling.”

* * *

 

They both happen to be in the library at the same time. Duke sits at a desk with McNamara, the former concealing a copy of _MacBeth_ in the pages of her fashion magazine.

JD sits on the worn-through carpet across the library, leaning back against a bookshelf, Veronica asleep in his lap and curled into a vaguely kittenish pose. He’s stroking her hair idly as he flips another page.

“Ew, check out Jesse James and Morticia Adams,” Heather M sneers. “Veronica never wore this much black _before_.”

“Hey, leave Veronica alone, ok?” Duke snaps. McNamara blinks at her with surprised, empty eyes. “What’s your damage, Heather?”

“Veronica’s still a Heather.”

“But Heather said -”

“Heather ran away, didn’t she?” Heather Duke bites back harshly. “She couldn’t _handle_ it. But I can. Now be a good girl and shut _up_ , Heather.”

There’s a pause in which the two girls look at each other and the world shifts around them.

“Sorry Heather,” mutters McNamara finally, and lowers her gaze.

Heather Duke grins triumphantly, just as Jason Dean looks up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * yeah it's a reference to the Edgar Allen Poe story The Telltale Heart, in which the narrator keeps hearing the beating of the heart of this guy he killed and hid under the floorboards.  
> **I managed to fit some jdonica fluff in here finally! so proud of myself


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And when she disappeared, there was concern. Not grieving exactly, because a disappearance is not exactly like a death. It’s not like chopping something off with a cleaver, more like something running down the sink so slow you don’t know it’s gone until long after it is.” -Stephen King, “Mrs. Todd’s Shortcut”

 

Heather McNamara pulls up her tights and steps out of her bathroom stall. She sees Veronica by the bathroom mirror, face blotchy and red with tears. Her eyes lock with Heather’s reflection for a moment and then Veronica hurriedly looks away and splashes some more water on her face.

Heather can’t remember if they’re still being mean to Veronica or not -Heather isn’t here to tell her what to do -so she awkwardly asks, “Veronica, are you okay?”

Veronica’s brown-green eyes snap back up to meet her and she mutters, sullenly, “Why do you care?”

“I -just…” Heather stammers. “Is this about that date with Kurt and Ram?”

Sure, Heather’d heard the rumors they’d been spreading about Veronica, but that was just how boys _were_. She thought Veronica would _understand_ that, with her total disdain of high school boys.

“Heather! What’s taking you so long!” Heather Duke storms into the bathroom, wearing a new pair of emerald-green heels Heather Chandler had bought her for her birthday. “Veronica?”

Veronica, ashamed, ducks her head so her bangs fall over her face.

“Go find her psycho boyfriend,” Heather Duke orders.

“But Heather -“

“Now!” and Heather McNamara trips over herself on her way out the bathroom.

It isn’t hard to find Jason Dean -he’s sitting outside the school library with a cigarette and a dusty old book. He looks at her with a sort of disdain (which Heather McNamara finds irritating - _she’s_ a Heather, and he’s just a loser, where does he get off looking at her like that?) “Yes?”

“Veronica needs you,” Heather says, trying to make the words sound as snarky and sharp-edged as possible, but as soon as he hears his girlfriend’s name, his face softens like warm butter, and even his glare lessens. _“Where.”_

It’s a demand, not a question, and even as Heather points him to the girls’ bathroom, she can’t shake the feeling of his eyes burning into her. It’s creepy, unnerving, as if she’s been cut open and laid out under a microscope like the frogs they dissected last year ( _super_ gross, Duke had thrown up all over her lab station and Chandler had made Veronica forge them notes to get them all out of it)

* * *

Heather Duke stalks out of the bathroom as soon as JD arrives, not even acknowledging him. He doesn’t acknowledge her either, wrapping Veronica up in his arms and whispering into her hair and Duke knows she’s made the right decision.

* * *

She’s less sure the next day, when he interrupts her in the library, plopping himself gracelessly down into McNamara’s abandoned chair (she had left an hour ago, probably to hook up with Ram or some shit)

Heather lowers _Carrie_ to arch an elegant eyebrow. “What do you want, freak?”

“Who’s behind that rumor?”

She knows what he’s talking about, of course. “Who do you think? Kurt and Ram, of course.”

“Right,” his eyes are distant, considering. Heather, bored, returns her eyes to her book when he speaks again.

“Hey, uh, Heather -do you take German?”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "She just goes a little mad sometimes. We all go a little mad sometimes." Norman Bates, Psycho

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was a bitch to write and i'm so glad it's finished

**_The day before_ **

“I hate them, I hate them, I hate them,” Veronica sniffled. They were lying on her bed, Veronica’s head on JD’s shoulder and her hands fisted into his flannel. He was stroking her hair. “I know, I know, darling. They’re pieces of shit and we’d all be better off if they were gone.”

“Hey, maybe you should get your gun out,” she murmured. “Scare them shitless again.”

“I like the way you think, Ronnie,” she felt his laugh purr in his chest like an engine.

She sat up, and his hand slipped from her curls. “So can we?”

“Shoot them with blanks?”

“Yeah.”

Something changed in his face. “I don’t think so, Veronica. Besides, it’ll all work itself out. Just wait and see. Fate, or karma, or some shit.”

He expected her to laugh at him. He didn’t expect her to tilt her head up, eyes cynically narrow, and ask if he believed in God.

He frowned thoughtfully. “I believe in us,” he said eventually.

“In us?” there was a laugh hidden in the corner of her smile. He kissed her. “Yeah. Our love is god, baby.”

She laughed against his lips. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Mm.”

 

* * *

 

 

**_Present day_ **

“Hey, uh, Heather -do you take German?”

“I’m in your class, weirdo. Why?”

“No reason.” He leans back, studies the wall. “I want to commit another murder.”

 _Carrie_ slips from Heather’s numb hands onto the desk. “You _what?_ ”

“I was thinking around dawn, in the woods behind the school. That work for you?”

She’s pretty sure her mouth is still open, and closes it with a snap. “Who -why-?”

“Kurt Kelly and Ram Sweeney, because they made Veronica cry,” JD states matter-of-factly. “The part I’m having trouble with is the _how_ but then I thought -hey, you’re the resident murderer here, why not ask you?”

“Quick question.”

“Yeah?”

She spits out venomously, “What the _hell_ makes you think I’m going to help you?”

“How about because if it weren’t for me, you’d be on the stand being tried as an adult right about now?”

She narrows her eyes in her most intimidating glare. He doesn’t seem affected. Heather finds her voice again. 

“You think I’m going to help you -what, because I _owe_ you?”

“No,” he admits. “I think you’re going to help me because you’ve got a good life ahead of you -college, for example, and then a career (maybe even politics to satisfy your little power craving) -and me calling the police and telling them what _really_ happened to Heather Chandler might get in the way of that, just a bit.” He smiles at her.

“God I hate you,” she snarls, defeated.

“Be outside your house at seven. We’ll plan it then.” He stands.

“My parents get home at six. We’ll do it at five,” she manages. He raises an eyebrow ( _you think you’re calling the shots? isn’t that cute)_.

“Can’t. I have a date with Veronica. See you at seven, kid.”

 

 

**_7 pm_ **

“Heather! Someone’s at the door for you!” 

Heather takes the stairs two at a time only to see her mom standing by the doorway, arms crossed and scowling. “Who is it, Mom?”

“Some gross hoodlum on a motorcycle. Is this your  boyfriend Heather? Are you _dating_ behind my back?”

“Oh my God. No. Absolutely not.” Heather runs a hand through her hair. “I’ll get rid of him.”

 

 

JD looks up from lighting his cigarette to see Heather Duke, barefoot, storming towards him. “Duke,” he drawls.

She is not amused. “My mom thinks we’re dating.”

“You could tell her I’m your friend who you commit murder with, if that makes you feel better.”

She narrows her eyes.

“Ok, so what I’ve got so far is this -I’ll get the guns to the location. All you have to do is set up the jocks.”

“Your dad really lets you have access to a lot of his weaponry, doesn’t he?”

“Bought me a pistol for my eleventh birthday.”

“He bought you a -”

“Yeah.”

“You are the _textbook_ example of why America needs gun control.”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

 

**_8 pm_ **

“So, I’m going to call Kurt and Ram, get them to meet us in the cemetery at dawn -isn’t ‘cemetery’ kind of a vague instruction? They might get lost.”

“Good point,” JD says, jots something down on the piece of paper they’re using to map this out. They’re sitting outside a gas station, making notes in the back of Heather’s English notebook. 

“What if we get them to meet us at Heather Chandler’s grave?”

Heather frowns. “That’s…morbid.”

“And overambitious. They probably can’t read. Just tell them to meet you in the woods behind the school.”

“Ok. I can do that. God, I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“Don’t worry,” JD says, not reassuringly at all. He _almost_ smiles. 

“You’re thinking about Veronica, aren’t you?”

His almost smile disappears. “We should get back to work.”

Her conscience almost speaks up. She thinks of Heather’s little red car and her fingerprints on the steering wheel. She bites it back down.

 

**_9 pm_ **

She makes the call.


End file.
